Saving You
by Bleachyaoilover
Summary: Dr.Crane is having trouble coping with the world outside of Arkham. But what happens when he's appointed to be the doctor of a Bruce Wayne with more problems than his own?
1. Prologue: A Resolution

Lover- This is my first Batman fanfic, and I wanna see how I do on it! Critisism is also appreciated since I want to know what I need more of!

**R & R PEOPLE!**

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_"If you don't even believe in yourself, how do you expect others to believe in you?" -Angelodevil_

**Prologue: A Resolution**

Dr. Crane had been released from Arkham for a year now. The orderly's of the asylum had seen fit for him to run around Gotham like the rat they had come to see him as. Much like the Batman, only he didn't go gallivanting around in a cape and rescuing innocents.

He really _did _seem to be getting the short end of the stick. He had no job, no money, and certainly no reputation to uphold. His health was on a steady decline, seeming to grow from skinny to thin in just a couple of months. It wasn't his fault. He just didn't seem to be able to keep any job he had for more than a couple of days. He had run out of ideas.

The doctors had christened him with the name "Stick", and he, begrudgingly, had accepted it. He had no choice to. It's not like he could've gassed them anymore. Nobody was afraid of him, not like they had been, and they had no reason to be. What could he, a thin man with no money, do to them? Nothing, that's what.

No, if he had the same amount of money Bruce Wayne did, he had no doubt that he would be straight back to his old ways. The landlord of the old apartment complex in the middle of the slums had accepted him, and he had moved in. The only thing that adorned the small abode was a small futon he slept on, a kitchen table, the regular kitchen appliances, and the bathroom. It was in his contract when he was released.

No touching other's water or food, no driving, and certainly no private time. That was for when he was on the job, anyway. That infuriating Rachel Dawes had seen that he had no pleasantries in his less than meaningful life. She was really annoying that one. Just because he had gassed her, she had taken everything he did personally. She was the thorn in his side, the constant 'checking up' on him was nothing more than to keep him out of trouble, and he knew it. It couldn't be avoided.

The brunette sat back into the run-down, black futon and opened the morning's paper. Even though it was late at night, he still saw the need to catch up on the news before bedtime. Call it a…..habit, if you will. As he flipped through the pages absent-mindedly, he stopped on a page that held some appeal to him.

_**"TWELVE CRIMINALS PUT TO JUSTICE ON MAIN AVENUE"**_ was what the headline read, and he quickly scanned down the paragraphs. Drug-runners busted, taken into custody, same thing. It was the small word that caught his attention.

The word read Batman.


	2. Salvation

Lover- I might actually go through with this one! Lol.

**Salvation**

_"Everytime you get angry, you poison your own system." -Alfred Montapert_

He had started the day young, innocent some would say, and all Crane did was mill around his apartment, staring balefully out of the windows.

It was going to rain, and he knew it. The thunder sounding in the distance told him so, and he wondered why the weather forecasters hadn't predicted it yesterday. What good were they? Not being correct about the weather at any time of the year, it was outrageous.

He sighed, taking his glasses off of his face and placing them on the kitchen table. He had changed into loose-fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt. It fitted him, but not his personality.

He was going to run today, and he was going to do it right. He had to prove that snot-nosed doctor wrong. The woman wasn't mean or anything, Jonathon just considered her a little _too_ prying. What was it _her _business if he was becoming unhealthy? Oh right. She was his doctor.

Main Avenue had been cleared of its criminals, Jonathon knew that much, and he would be damned if some mugger stopped him. He had only been mugged last month once, and it _was _kind of brutal. He hadn't gotten beat up, too bad.

The batman had appeared and saved his hide before any lasting damage had been done. After the criminal had run off, the Dark Knight had asked him if he was all right. That was…after clocking him in the head. Maybe that had to do with the fact that Crane had been screaming like a little girl during the process. The whole ordeal had the brunette pretty shaken up. He was half-expecting the winged crusader to haul him off as well, before remembering he hadn't done anything wrong. He wasn't used to that. The guy had even asked him if he needed a ride home, to which Jonathon had shaken his head and been off. Later that night he had inspected himself in the mirror, discovering some new injuries. A gash on his right shoulder, a scratch on the cheek, and a bump on the noggin from Batman.

As Jonathon grabbed the door keys out of a nearby drawer, he raised an eyebrow at a noise from under his 'humble abode'. A constant banging made the man wrinkle his nose up in disgust, and he shut the door behind him, securely locking it.

'This place is vile.' He thought to himself, before turning on his heel and descending the stairs.

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Hours later, along with much sweat, the evening found Jonathon trudging alongside of the road. About two miles away from his apartment. How he had traveled that far, he had no idea, but he wanted to get home fast. The rain-filled clouds had somehow snuck on him, and now rested directly overhead, almost as if they had planned their attack on him and him only. The thunder was constantly booming, and if it didn't rain in the next ten minutes, it would be a miracle.

He continued to walk, his head held low, and thought about things. How his life had gone wrong, the abuse he had suffered as a child, and the inmates of Arkham. How the scourge of Gotham had tormented him in there, calling him names like "crazy" and "maniac". It had been torture, and the guards only had seemed to make it worse. Leering at him as they walked by, rattling his bars with their nightsticks. And nobody had thought to help him. It was unfair.

A tap, and a numb feeling hit the back of his neck before it faded as quickly as it had come. The brunette jerked in surprise. Then it happened again, and again, until he realized what was going on.

It had begun to rain.

Jonathon chuckled to himself. 'How ironic.'

The thunder above had ceased to roar, and lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the now darkened city. Thick, torrents of rain streamed down out of the angry and billowing clouds, making the world a far grayer place than it already was. Lightning streaked across the heavens, startling Jonathon, but making him simply stand in awe at the same time. The rain felt cleansing, and it washed away all of his sadness in small, pelting strokes. It was wonder.

A sudden jerk on his left arm sent Jonathon tumbling to the ground and he rolled, hissing in pain as he hit his still healing right shoulder on the concrete. Above him, a raggedy, old, home-less man stood a desperate look on his face. He remembered sharing that look once, having felt the need of food, but this was different.

He had a gray beard, and a balding head, which didn't look to well kept. Semi-torn clothes hung in tatters upon his body, and the look on the man's face could kill.

"Gimme yer money." The menacing looking man growled out, his voice as ragged as his appearance. "Now."

Jonathon started to shake on the ground out of fear. It wasn't his fault. All those nights of meddling with the fear toxin had settled in, and just a little of it had slipped into his bloodstream. It was a natural effect for him. But it couldn't tame his mouth.

"What makes you think I would have any money on me?" Crane said, sounding more confident than he felt. He wondered at himself. How did he manage to sound so strong?

The man gave off a look of surprise, which quickly turned to anger. The hobo growled, a low, guttural sound and came at him slowly, his fists raised. Now was when Crane began to fear for his life. Miles from his house, with an enraged lunatic wanting money that he didn't have. This couldn't get better. His baby blue eyes widened in fear, and he couldn't help but simply watch the man.

A flash of headlights and the roar of an engine caused the man to look away suddenly, his attention now focused on something behind Jonathon. The engine roared again, and the man cried out, dropping his fists and running pell-mell down the street until he vanished around the corner of a building.

Jonathon twisted to look behind him and the first sight that greeted him was a Lamborghini, the color a sleek black. It certainly put the buildings around it to shame. The stunned man simply sat there on the cold pavement, shivering, and so did the car.

Then the window on the passenger side rolled down and a warm voice hollered, "Well, are you going to just sit there and freeze, or can I offer you a ride home?"

The voice was familiar, but strange all the same, like he had heard it from somewhere. The offer was there, but could he trust this man? Oh well. Crane didn't really have anything to lose, much less to some man riding around in a Lamborghini. He stood up, his body still shaking, but this time from the sudden cold that swept through Gotham. He stood at the window, his hand on the handle.

"You sure you want me in there?" Jonathon asked, unsure if the man would want him in there as of yet. "I'm all wet."

The man laughed almost inaudibly above the rain, and Crane grit his teeth. The man was haughty and smug. He could tell that by the answer.

"Well, I could care less." Came the cocky, yet refreshing reply. His voice was smooth, hard to describe, but it was there. "It's been lonely with just me and my car, and she needs someone to admire her from the inside. So I really could care less." The man paused for a minute, then said, "But….unless you wanna turn into a Popsicle, then I suggest you get in."

Jonathon obliged the man and got in, teeth chattering from the cold, and sat in the black leather seat tenderly. He slowly closed the car door behind him, as if scared he was going to break the car in two.

"Relax, I don't bite." The man's voice came again, closer this time. He _was_ right next to him, he could practically feel his warm breath from here. "Much. Unless you suddenly go all Incredible Hulk on me, I don't think she'll break."

Jonathon turned to face the voice and mentally cursed himself for even _being _here.

It was Bruce Wayne, multi-billionaire playboy and prince of Gotham.

.


	3. A Proposition

Lover-Keeping it going!

Thanks to all the reviews!

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_Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great. _

_-Mark Twain_

**A Proposition**

"Um…I d-don't think this was such a good id-dea." Crane had no idea as to why he was stuttering. He blamed it on the cold. The doctor made to get out of the car, but was stopped by Bruce, who placed a hand on his left forearm. The warmth of the older man's skin was pretty much the only heat in the car, and Crane's skin broke out in gooseflesh, the small bumps running up and down his body.

"Nonsense." Bruce said, the simple sentence making the brunette pause, his arm still in the air. "What would make you think that?"

"Because _I_, Bruce Wayne, am not famous, so I cannot see why I am in the same car as you." The sentence was curt, yet held the politeness of a trained businessman.

"Well, _Doctor Crane_, leaving you out in the rain isn't exactly what I call good hospitality."

Jonathon's mouth fell open in slight wonder, but he caught himself and snapped his jaw back up. "How do you know my name?"

The playboy laughed, the sound as smooth as his voice, and Crane had to try very hard not to slap him. "Why, doesn't everybody know the good doctor?"

"Good doctor?" Crane echoed, slightly confused. "What makes you think I'm a 'good doctor'?"

"You have a PhD don't you?"

The answer was simple enough to make Jonathon turn his head away in order to not let Bruce see him roll his eyes. How could this man be so _oblivious_? It was inconceivable!

"You don't watch the news too much, do you Mr. Wayne?" Jonathon asked, continuing to stare out of the window. He watched the rain hit the windshield, and then roll down it, making little rain rivulets as it went. He suddenly had the bursting urge to rush out there and just stand in the rain. If it wasn't so cold, then he actually believed he might do it. When Bruce took his hand away to run it through his own hair, he began to shiver again.

"Only when something intereting's on." The rich man replied casually. He glanced over at the other man and just now noticed that he was shivering. Bruce guessed he had a higher tolerance to the cold, for he thought the temperature could hardly be considered chilly. Then he remembered that the other was wet. He reached forward and fiddled with the knobs on the dashboard, and warm air suddenly began to blow out of the heater, filling the car up like a cup of coffee.

The shivers coursing throughout Crane's body subsided, and he turned to look at the raven-haired man beside him, gratefulness in his blue eyes.

"Thanks." He muttered sheepishly.

He jumped, startled, when Bruce suddenly revved the engine of the Lamborghini and pulled off of the curb. The black car zoomed down the road, acting like there was no such thing as a speed limit. If Jonathon had to guess, he'd say they were doing about sixty.

"Don't mention it, no where do you live, Doctor Crane?" Bruce asked, that cocky smirk still on his face from earlier. He didn't take his eyes off of the road while asking the question, and for that, Jonathon was grateful.

"Ummm…The Blue Goose, a couple of miles off of Main Avenue."

The older man looked at him with a raised eyebrow, mirth in his eyes, and Jonathon instantly knew what he was going to say.

"No, Mr. Wayne, I didn't name the place." He said, sighing, looking out to the road once more. "And if you make some outrageous comment about them stuffing geese under our pillows-"

"Mr. Crane!" Bruce exclaimed, a full-blown grin plastered on his face. "What kind of man do you take me for?"

Jonathon simply 'harrumphed' watching the buildings pass at what seemed like lightning speed.

After a while, the silence in the car seemed to stretch on and on, until finally Bruce spoke. The noise caused Jonathon to jump again, and he mentally swore at his own jumpiness. He was becoming more and more convinced that this man was doing it entirely to just see him jump.

"So….what is it that you do exactly, Doctor Crane?" The question itself was innocent enough, and without hesitation, Crane answered.

"I am currently jobless, Mr. Wayne." He said, still staring out of the window. The storm hadn't seemed to lighten up any, but his mood had. "An unemployed adult."

For once, Bruce took his eyes off of the road, glancing at the still dripping man, before looking back at his driving. His expression seemed worried, and to Crane it was funny. Almost like he cared.

"Well, we can't have that, _can_ we?" He asked, his voice light, like he was treading on hallowed ground. "How will you live out your life jobless?"

"Simple enough." Jonathon replied, his tone back to being casual. "I'll just roam around until I happen to find one."

Bruce seemed to chew on this for a while, his expression remaining thoughtful. Jonathon mentally hoped that he didn't bust a blood vessel. Then again, who knew with this man? It was almost like playing a game of charades.

"What about if _I _offered you a job?" Bruce asked, glancing at Crane once again. He sounded serious enough, but Jonathon wasn't so sure. The brunette turned to stare at the other man, his expression veiled, in case he was joking, but he never busted out laughing.

"If I gave you a job, would it help?" Bruce asked again. "Would you be able to….support yourself?"

"I would think if it were _you_, Mr. Wayne, then I would be alright, though I don't see why you are so fixated on helping me."

Well, if a good person does bad things, then I don't think that makes him a bad person, do you?" Without waiting for an answer, the playboy continued. "It shouldn't, and it won't to me."

The seriousness in his voice made Jonathon blink. It was so abrupt, almost like the man was bipolar, which he probably was. "What exactly would I be doing?"

"You would be my personal doctor. You would be by my side all day, and act as my secretary." The reply was straight to the point. "Does that sound alright to you?"

"Are you sure you want _me_, of all people, as your doctor?" Crane asked uncertainly. After all, what sane person would? He had gassed thousands, no millions of people, and even put in Arkham because of it.

Bruce screeched to a halt outside of The Blue Goose Apartments, earning strange looks from people walking by.

The raven-haired man turned to him and said, "Why wouldn't I?" For a second, Jonathon could've sworn he saw a flash of Bruce's true face. He looked haggard, sleep-deprived. Like Crane had felt a few weeks ago after losing his most recent job.

Then it was gone, and that old, familiar and playful twinkle was back. It was a mask. "You're stop."

Jonathon looked around, as if noticing where they were for the very first time. "So we are. What time should I be in?" Jonathon had already gotten out, and was leaning in, his hands hanging onto the car door.

"Seven 'o' clock a.m."

"I'll be there." And Jonathon closed the door, watching the expensive car as it sped off. It turned a corner and vanished from his sight.

Suddenly realizing he was still standing in the middle of a thunderstorm, the brunette ran up to the apartment, raced up the stairs, and fumbled with opening the door. Upon opening it, he dashed in, and slammed the door, securely locking it.

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.

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**SupportSeverusSnape** - Lol. H eacn't help himself!

**AnathemasCurse** - I'll try my best!

**chicken-breast** - I'll try, although I'll admit I'm not to good with the Nc-17 scenes...

**SolitaryMovement** - It's soooo hard to keep them in character! Just wait till you see what I have planned!

**Thanks to all reviews!!**

**KEEP THE R & R GOING!**

**WRITERS NEED LOVE TOO!**


	4. Introductions

Lover- Continuing with my Wayne/Crane commitement!

Thanks again to all people who are reviewing!

**R & R!**

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_Great works are performed, not by strength, but by perseverance. _

**_-Samuel Johnson_**

**Introductions**

'_Beep-Beep Beep-Beep Beep-Beep Beep-Beep'_

The alarm was going off, but Jonathon could hardly hear it. It was as if it was melted into his dreams. And he had no idea. He continued to sleep, small sighs sounding out into the room, before the annoying buzzing finally awoke him.

The brunette groaned, the sleep still in his voice, and groped around the nightstand for his glasses. Upon finding them, he quickly flipped them on, and twisted around to get a good lock at the clock.

**_"6:07 am"_**

"HOLY SHIT!" Jonathon yelled, jumping out of the bed, only to fall face-first to the ground due to the covers wrapped around his legs. "I'M GONNA BE LATE!"

Then normally calm and collected Dr. Crane was freaking out, and when he did, the results were always disastrous. The man was always a magnet for trouble, but in this state, he was especially prone to it.

He untangled himself from the monster that were his sheets and ran into the bathroom, turning the water on and leaping in the shower.

"_**7:32 am"**_

A clean and fresh man stood outside of the skyscraper that was Wayne Enterprises. It was almost menacing, the way it towered over him, and he felt slightly intimidated. He stood, gazing at the building, before he remembered he had somewhere to be. Somewhere where he was wanted. And somewhere where he was very, _very _late.

He dashed into the building and looked around for someone frantically. He needed directions. Plus, with the size of the building, he was afraid he might get lost.

A woman with a blonde ponytail sat there, black glasses adorning her face. Red lipstick and a nearly see-through wife-beater made her look like a supermodel secretary. Or a Victoria Secret look-a-like.

Heedless of these thoughts, Jonathon hurried over to the desk, skidding on the sleek marble floor as he stopped. His dark brown hair was now all a mess from running here, but he would be damned if he let something like that stop him from this big job opportunity.

"Mr. Wayne's….office." He managed to gasp out, and the woman looked up, her expression shocked. He got a good look at the nametag, which hung neatly off of her shirt. It read Rebecca.

"S-Seventeenth floor" She stuttered, obviously as nervous as he was. Then she looked him up and down. "But y-you'll need an appointment!" But it was too late. Jonathon had already taken off in search of an elevator. Down the hall and to his left was where he found it.

He rushed in and pressed the button for the seventeenth floor., silently wishing for the elevator to go at lightning speed.

His wish wasn't granted. The elevator went at its normal two mph speed, slowly ascending the tower. The slow and calm elevator music didn't match Crane's mood at all. The brunette was jittery, and the fact that he was about to be in a room full of people who were so much better than him did nothing to ease his nerves.

_Bruce Wayne._ He couldn't believe how much his luck had changed. It was like a movie show. From rags to riches or something like that.

The elevator finally arrived at the seventeenth floor with a bright and cheerful '_ding!'_ and another secretary looked up at him. She was African-American, with slightly poofy curls. She _was_ pretty, but definitely not his type. As he dragged himself over to her, she took in the sight of him and smiled, the teeth a brilliant white. "Another hard morning?"

He smiled in return, exchanging the politeness. "Yes, Ms……" He searched for a nametag, but she beat him to it.

"Jessica, please sir, just call me Jessica." She was nice, and not just in the business tradition. You couldn't buy this. She was….innocent.

"I'm Dr. Crane." He replied, sticking out his hand for her to shake it. She took his hand and shook it, still smiling. "Oh! Mr. Wayne's new doctor, am I right?" She asked

He nodded, slightly surprised that she knew. "He…talks about me then?"

She laughed melodically. "No Dr. Crane, it's just that the secretaries are required to know each and every personnel of this business. It's not easy, but as a doctor I suppose it would be easy enough for you."

He nodded knowingly. He _did _suppose that his memory was better than most.

"Where exactly _is_ Mr. Wayne right now?" He asked, wondering what the man was up to.

"He's in a business meeting right now." She replied, looking down. Back to her work he presumed. "He said to just wait for him here. He should be done in about five minutes."

Jonathon went over to a leather couch that was right next to Jessica's desk, and sat. The black leather definitely had to be a custom pick from the prince of Gotham himself. The man had a thing for black obviously.

The waiting room stayed silent for a minute then Jessica spoke up and said, "Although Mr. Wayne _has_ been falling asleep during said meetings lately. Come to think of it, he doesn't seem to be getting as much sleep as he usually does."

Jonathon immediately perked up, instantly attentive. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he comes in at about seven and he looks so _tired_, you know?" She explained, all the while rotating her hand to make her point. "He goes into his office and pours about six cups of coffee and still seems to drag about the day! It's unusual, and it's got me worried! What would he be doing to ma-"

She stopped talking as eight men dressed in very important-looking suits suddenly burst out of the doors of the conference room. They were muttering to themselves and he could just barely make out one man saying "Every time he does this!" Jonathon vaguely wondered what they were talking about.

He looked over at Jessica and she nodded her head towards the room. He got up and walked into the conference room. He was a bit astounded.

The table was big. And long. And very black. So Bruce Wayne-like in fact, that it was ridiculous. Black chairs aligned the elongated table, and near the very end, sat Bruce Wayne himself.

The raven-haired man had his head buried in his arms and was leaning on the table. The arms obstructed his view of Bruce's face, and so he couldn't tell if he really _was_ asleep or just playing around. Jonathon made his way over to him, and reached out to poke him.

"He _is _asleep, you know." A light and friendly voice sounded from behind him. Crane jumped, retracting his arm instantly and turned around clutching his chest as if his heard would pop out.

There stood Lucius Fox, watching him from an open space in front of one of the big picture windows. The man's reputation exceeded him, so Jonathon instantly knew who he was, and nodded as a greeting. "Mr. Fox."

"He's been like this for the past two weeks, Mr. Crane." The other man said, not appearing to have heard Crane's greeting. "Any clue as to why?"

"Jessica said sleep-deprivation." Jonathon's answer came instantly and without thought.

"Well, yes. Even a monkey could see _that_ Mr. Crane." Mr. Fox's voice was filled with sarcasm. "But as to what is making him miss his sleep, therein lies the mystery." Dark brown eyes flickered over to Jonathon's baby blue ones, before going back to resting on Bruce's sleeping form. "I suggest you go about waking him."

Lucius made to leave, and as he reached the doorway, Jonathon called out to him. "But, how do you want me to do this?"

Mr. Fox turned to look at him, and said, "How else would you wake a sleeping baby?" Then he left, leaving an utterly confused Dr. Crane behind with a sleeping Bruce Wayne.

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Lover-Im tired, I'll write more tomorrow! I'm going to seet he Dark Knight for the third time tomorrow!!

Long live Wayne/Crane!


	5. Even When You Think You Have Enough

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Lover- Sorry it took so long to update, but between balancing work and fanfiction and sleeping before school...yeah. It's hard. To all my readers, prepare for another cliffy! MWAHAHAHAA! Lol. Both nights I was WAY too tired to even update, so sorry!

**Lady Draculea** - Yes, the Joker was spectacular, though it is a shame he won't be performing any longer. I've seen it three times! Christian Bale, to me, is the kind of guy I would look at and say "I bet you he smells good!". Lol. Especially in his movie Reign Of Fire!

**zombilina** - Oh, and that's just the beginning! I can't do long chapters. not my style I guess.

**Kemowitch92** - Well, we'll just have to see won't we? It's definately not simply frinedship!

**demonlifehealer** - Thank you, thank you, a million times thanks! Hail to the Wayne/Crane! May they forever be smut and slashy goodiness throughout the land! It is so hard to juggle work and fanfiction!

**ON WITH THE FIC!**

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_"Don't give up the best thing that's ever happened to you just because you're a little unsure of who you are." _

**_-The Family Man_**

**Even When You Think You Have _Enough..._**

The man was incorrigible

The man was incorrigible. Impossible to wake and absolutely frustrating in each and every way.

After Mr. Fox had left, Jonathon had tried everything he knew to wake him. Shaking him, talking to him, anything he could think of seemed to have no such effect on this man whatsoever.

"Mr. Wayne!" Jonathon finally hollered. "Will you _please_ get up!" This, of course, had no effect, and the brunette groaned in frustration. He was all the way across the room, and was hurrying towards the man to try some new tactic, when he tripped on some unseen force. The result was him sprawling into the other and catching himself on Bruce. His hand grabbed the raven-hared man's side and he fell to the floor when the other jerked away, bashing his face into the ground the second time that day.

Crane groaned, holding his head, before he realized what had happened.

Bruce had reacted to his touch.

The man was _ticklish_.

The opportunity was just too good to pass up, and Jonathon stood beside the man. He reached out and tentatively squeezed the left side of Bruce's stomach. Bruce jerked away, mumbling in his sleep, and then froze again, still sound asleep. Jonathon grinned.

This was funny.

Jonathon moved until he was standing behind the playboy, and grabbed both sides, so that he had nowhere to escape. Bruce jerked to the left. Then to the right. A snicker was heard, then it was a full-blown chuckle and Jonathon released him.

Bruce stirred and groaned as Jonathon moved to the side of the table, stopping when he was standing right beside him. The multi-billionaire slowly withdrew from his little 'fortress' and stretched back over the chair, not yet opening his eyes. Crane could hear the many joints in his arms and back popping at nearly each movement.

"Sorry I was asleep, did I miss anything?" Bruce asked, then he opened his eyes and saw Jonathon standing and staring at him expectantly.

"Oh, Dr. Crane!" Bruce exclaimed, rubbing his eyes and inhaling sharply. "You're here for….your job right?"

Jonathon nodded, and said, "Yes Mr. Wayne. Speaking of job…." He gestured at Bruce's body. "Are you….sleeping?"

Bruce blushed, turning a pale pink and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Yes…I can't seem to get much sleep lately."

"And why is that, Mr. Wayne?"

"Please. Call me Bruce."

"But that would be so unprofessional."

"It makes me feel more….at home, I guess."

Jonathon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, Bruce…..why have you not been getting much sleep?"

Bruce stood up and walked over to the window, looking out of it and down on the city that lay before them. His aura had suddenly changed. It was different from the one from before. Good humor had gone out of the doorway and now it was replaced by bitter somberness. It was like yesterday, when they had been in the car.

"I've been having….dreams."

"Dreams, Mr……..Bruce?" Jonathon almost stumbled over the word. He had forgotten. There was a formality he was used to that had gone missing.

The playboy continued to set his gaze out on the city. "More like nightmares. It's worse than last time." The man turned around, and for once, Jonathon saw how tired he really was.

Jonathon raised an eyebrow, his question nearly written on his face. "I know I'm not your psychiatrist, Bruce. But I have to know these things."

"It started when I was a child, after my parents died, I saw these visions, these dreams in my sleep." The words were slow and sounded forced, and Jonathon came to wonder if he was a psychiatrist or not. "It was like, all the things they had stood for, came crashing down, and everything they taught me was gone. It didn't make any sense to me. I never trusted anyone enough to let them know other than Alfred."

Jonathon raised his eyebrow again and Bruce said before he could open his mouth to ask, "Alfred, my butler."

"Oh. Do you need….pills?"

"None have ever helped."

"Maybe you're not taking the right ones."

"Please Dr. Crane. Of all people, would _I _be the one to take the wrong meds?"

"Jessica said you've mistaken Pepto-Bismol from cough syrup before." Jonathon said, looking positively bemused.

"Well…ah, it was early." Bruce said, his usual face seemed to be back. "And I hadn't had my coffee."

Jonathon eyed him for a minute before looking outside of the window as well. The rain from yesterday had pretty much disappeared, but there were still some small puddles remaining. The mud and water mixed to make a near moat around the skyscraper, which, in his haste, Jonathon had failed to notice. It was odd what one noticed when in a hurry.

"I think….there's nothing special that needs to be done today, Mr. Crane. It'll be boring."

"That's alright, Bruce." Jonathon reassured him. "I need the money."

And that was the end of the conversation. The rest of the day was as Bruce had said it would be. Boring, with no let up of 'customers' or data waiting to be written down. It was unending. Jonathon had had a job as a secretary before, but this was ridiculous!

* * *

At the end of the day, Crane was tired, but as the ever-playful playboy bid him goodbye, he couldn't help but feel a bit remorseful about leaving. If he could, he would jump at the chance to live with the man, but it wasn't to be so. Bruce was a charming and a flirt, and it had been pretty obvious to Jonathon that the man clearly swung both ways.

Crane descended the elevator and walked out of the building of Wayne Enterprises and as he had no car, proceeded to walk the two and a half miles to his apartment.

By the time he reached the edge of the slums district, night had fallen, and Jonathon wanted to just lie down and sleep. He was that tired. And as the hand enclosed on his shoulder and twisted him around, he barely even noticed. Had it not been for the glint of gold teeth, and the dark chuckling of a mugger, then he wouldn't have been scared at all. But as he took in the already bloody knife, he began his normal shivering. A madman was loose on the streets of Gotham.

* * *

Lover- So tell my how I dead!

Please!

Come on...You know ya wanna!

Remember, criticism makes a good story, but flames make a bar-b-que!

Good night, ya'll!


	6. It's Never Enough

**Lover-** It took an amazingly short time to think all of this up! It made me happy!

Thanks!

**Lady Draculea** - Gomen Nasai! Gomen Nasai! Im sorry! Im sorry! I knew I should have done my research before writing that particular chapter! I just think that a ticklish Bruce Wayne is so incredibly cute! Wow...I just called Bruce Wayne cute. He's gonna kill me now!

**Kemowitch92** - Am I that obvious?! huddles in a corner and cries

**dubbs german accent I vill do my best to find out vhy they were so out of character!**

* * *

_"Tonight there are two kinds of darkness in this city, Lieutenant. First, there's that darkness which is merely the absence of light. And then there's that darkness which is the physical presence- the very manifestation- of the ultimate, Satanic evil. That second and malignant form of darkness feeds upon and cloaks itself in the first and more ordinary kind of darkness, cleverly disguises itself. But it's out there! Therefore, I don't wish to have shadows close to me this night, if I can avoid it, for one never knows when an innocent patch of shade might be something more than it appears." -**Darkfall by Dean Koontz**_

**...It's Never Enough**

It was going to be worse this time. Crane could feel it, no, _sense_ it in the stranger's aura. This man had probably already killed a small handful of people; maybe even with the possibility of raping them as well, there was no telling. Especially with the raging rejects of Gotham. The crime was in fact, more so here than any other city in the world. It was outrageous. This man had probably been in such situations before, that he relied simply on brute strength to get what he wanted. If that was it, then Jonathon was done for. Scratch that, he knew he was. In the deep, most southern part of Jonathon's soul, he knew that this guy was not going to engage him in some ridiculous battle of wits. Like the batman.

Speaking of which, shouldn't the Dark Knight be here by now? It was high time for his ass to be saved, and he needed to be saved now. God, he sounded like some kind of crazed church fanatic.

The greasy-haired mugger approached him with a maniac grin, the killer smile, some liked to call it. Nothing like the Joker's cruel smile, but close enough so that it got his bones shaking. It was the kind one wore when about to slaughter a victim, or when a roadside bomber succeeded in killing dozens of soldiers. It wasn't natural. The sadistic side in people usually came out in Gotham city.

He was shoved to the ground by grimy hands, and began to panic when he realized that he probably wouldn't make it out of this alive. Or at least with his mind intact. And if he did, it would be a miracle.

Jonathon made a scramble to get away, his hands fumbling on the ground, but before he could so much as get an inch, he was jerked back by his left shoulder. The wound was still sore from those uneventful few weeks ago, and he yelped in pain as he was brought to his knees before the sadist.

"Well now." The man said, his voice thick and gruff. Just like his fat and bulky body. "We have one that hurts as pretty as he looks, eh?" At his words, Jonathon became terrified. The beginning of true fear shown through his wide, baby blue eyes, the tremors coming more violently now. In a minute, he was sure he was going to get cut to ribbons.

Jonathon's chin was grabbed roughly, and his face was forced upwards to look at the opposing man. His face was brought forward into a bruising kiss, and such was Jonathon's shock and anger, he bit the invading tongue. As blood from the other man filled his mouth, he knew he had pretty much just signed his death warrant.

"You lil' bitch!" The man yelled, jerking his face away from Jonathon. A sharp pain on the entire left side of his face suddenly flared up impossibly fast, and his head was snapped back. It took him a minute to realize that the mugger had slugged him right in the face. Oh well, it always came to this point. Where Crane simply took it.

Jonathon felt his hair being grabbed and his head was yanked upwards without forcing him to stand. It hurt like hell and he grit his teeth to prevent the man from getting the satisfaction of hearing him make another sound.

"Let's see how ya like _this_." The sentence was growled out ion that horrible, hoarse voice, and the sharp combat knife was brought to his right cheekbone. Jonathon hissed in pain as the blade dug into his skin, a little above his jaw-line and just below his eye. The sadist dragged the dagger along the upper part of Jonathon's face, cutting a semi-straight line across his nose and under his opposite left eye. The pain caused Jonathon to yelp and the man loosened his hold on his hair. The brunette fell forward on his hands and knees and the man said, smugly, "See? All ya hafta do is keep making those pretty sounds and it won't hurt as much." Blood began to pour out of the semi-deep wound and ran down Jonathon's face and over his lips. The taste of his own blood was horrible.

Meanwhile, Jonathon was becoming more and more scared, but not without good reason. The crows were back, their giant, black feathers fluttering every which way. They were perched on streetlights, mailboxes, and the tops of several buildings. Their orange beaks were opened and they were cawing. The seemingly mocking laughter carried until it was driving Crane crazy, and he began to scream and write on the ground, clutching his ears to block out the sound.

The man still standing above him sensed the change, and climbed atop of the psychiatrist's hips, straddling the man. He gripped the knife like an untrained monkey would and jabbed it under the man's shoulder blade.

Jonathon let out a blood-curdling scream as the crow's calls grew louder, and a brilliant pain flared up, covering his entire back. The man had dragged the knife in jagged, zigzagging lines across his back. The lines ran down to his lower back and began filling with blood almost immediately. The dark liquid seeped through his now torn and ragged shirt and pooled onto the ground under him. It was like he was slowly dying. Wait, he was.

He didn't even notice as the now laughing sadist was thrown off of him and hurled to the ground by a black and foreboding presence. The knife flew out of the man's hands and skid across the pavement until it stopped just next to Jonathon's face, the razor-sharp blade still covered in his own blood.

Startled, Jonathon grabbed it, and with a ton of willpower, yanked his body up into a standing position, his vision weaving in and out. The psychiatrist swayed on his feet almost like a drunken man in a stupor and unsteadily looked around to see where his attacker had gone off to.

He didn't have to wait long, however, for the man was suddenly hurled onto the ground behind him, and a looming figure stepped just inside the light of the street lamps.

Batman.

It was the Night Crusader. The Dark Knight. The Batman. The Bat. He had so many names, but to Crane at that instant, he was nothing more than fear itself. Crane raised his knife as if to attack, and the being vanished from his sight. The sadist that was behind him suddenly touched his shoulder softly from behind, and Jonathon screamed. The brunette whirled around and jabbed the knife right into the left, upper-corner of the man's breast.

Inside, Jonathon's heart was racing, and when he stepped back to get a better look, he realized exactly what he had just stabbed. The world seemed to freeze on the spot, and Jonathon suddenly stopped breathing.

The batman watched him, seemingly unhurt from the knife currently protruding from his chest and Jonathon as at a loss of what to say. He wore that same expressionless face he always did and frankly, Jonathon had no idea how he managed it. He had just stabbed him in the chest for crying out loud! The brunette stumbled back slowly, muttering his apology to himself more than anything, but he had no doubt that the Batman would hear him.

"I…I…didn't…" Jonathon could say no more, and he fell, leaving the darkness to claim his vision.

Just before he blacked, Jonathon could've sworn he saw the crows. They had taken flight from their perches, their feathers fluttering slowly down to earth. But there was something else amongst them. The cawing was turning into short, loud bursts of ultrasound, and finally Jonathon saw it. The crows were the ones that were terrified now.

They were being chased by _bats_.

Unable to stay conscious any longer, Jonathon closed his eyes and let the blackness take him, unaware of his surroundings for what had to be the second time in two days.

**Lover -** There's a grasshopper thing in my house! I can hear it! Well, tell me how I did!!


End file.
